


The mating rituals of the American werewolf

by thedaughterofkings



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Deputy Stiles Stilinski, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mechanic Derek Hale, Oblivious Stiles Stilinski, Slow Burn, The Hale Family (Teen Wolf) Lives, Warning: Kate Argent, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:40:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23688574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedaughterofkings/pseuds/thedaughterofkings
Summary: When Stiles moves to Beacon Hills for his new job, he expects many things, but not to ask a wild wolf for directions. And that's just the first day.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 59
Kudos: 921





	The mating rituals of the American werewolf

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has been a long time in the making - and by that I mean, I ignored it for half a year. But now it's done and edited and beta-read by the most wonderful Larissa! So please enjoy!

Stiles hates Beacon Hills.

And he isn’t even there yet.

Today was supposed to be moving in day. So Stiles had packed all of his meager belongings into the Jeep and made the journey to his new home, where he’d start his brand new job as a deputy police officer tomorrow morning. Only the Jeep gave up on him a mile or so out of town and none of Stiles’ promises or threats or half-hearted attempts at fixing whatever had broken with a screwdriver had worked. (It had even been his sonic screwdriver, too, but apparently it did neither wood nor Jeeps.)

So he had finally accepted that he’d have to call for a tow - only to realise that his phone had died as well in the meantime. Thus, walking it was. Which would have been fine - not fun, but at least fine - if Stiles had not been utterly dumb and decided to take a shortcut. Through the woods.

At least it wasn’t night yet.

Which brings him to his current predicament: he is utterly lost. He cannot even use the sun to figure out the cardinal directions because dark clouds have pulled up and hidden it (not that he knows in which direction Beacon Hills actually lies, but it’s the principle of the thing).

With the way Stiles’ day is going, he’s counting on heavy rainfall within approximately seven and a half minutes. Perhaps even six and three quarters. 

He is just contemplating whether to attempt to retrace his steps towards the Jeep to find refuge there, or to press on towards town, which  _ must be somewhere _ , when a movement in the underbrush makes him stop in his tracks.

“Hello?” he calls, hoping to have come upon some other wanderer, and not just some poor deer. 

What steps out onto the clearing in front of him is neither deer nor human, though. It’s a fully grown, black wolf.

There are no wolves in California, Stiles’ mind hysterically supplies and his mouth says:

“Oh hello there. You wouldn’t happen to know which direction Beacon Hills is in, would you? I’m a tad lost.”

And then he bites his lip,  _ hard _ , before he spills any more inanities.

There’s a beat when neither of them moves and then the wolf nods in one direction and disappears into the opposite. 

Stiles stares after him for a moment and then shrugs and goes into the direction the wolf had seemed to indicate. It’s as good a plan as any, and Stiles’ day can’t get any worse, can it?

Three seconds after that thought crossed his mind, it starts to rain.

Stiles  _ really _ hates Beacon Hills.

~*~

The wolf was actually right. 

Stiles is sopping wet, covered in mud from when he took a tumble down a small hill, and beyond fed up, but he has actually made it to Beacon Hills. Apparently the tide is turning for him again, because the third house he sees is a garage. 

“Hail all gods and wolves,” Stiles breathes and wipes a hand across his face and through his hair in a desperate attempt to get himself looking slightly more presentable. Unfortunately he uses the one covered in mud, though, so he only succeeds in making things even worse and just resigns himself to making the worst impression ever on the first person he meets in Beacon Hills.

Who is the most beautiful man Stiles has ever seen. Of course he is. Because the universe will always have the last laugh.

“What,” the guy barks and Stiles jumps. 

“Err, I need a tow?” he says, though it comes out as more of a question. Beautiful guy’s thick eyebrows rise in silent judgement and Stiles hurriedly repeats himself, trying to sound more firm this time: “My jeep broke down just outside of town and I need it towed.” The eyebrows have not moved, so Stiles hastily tacks on: “Please.”

Better be polite when faced with such serial killer eyebrows. 

“And then you walked all the way here in this weather? Oh you poor thing!” a new voice exclaims and Stiles turns around. A woman has come in through a door with a  _ Private  _ sign on it and is now staring at him pityingly. There is some clear familial resemblance between her and the guy, and it’s not just the almost supernatural beauty. Stiles’ guess would be that they are siblings, possibly even twins. Her eyebrows certainly have the same ability to silently judge a man. In her case, pity seems to win out over disdain, though Stiles isn’t sure whether that’s any better. 

“Alright, hop to it!” she demands suddenly, and Stiles has a brief moment of panicked questioning what he’s supposed to do before he realises she’s talking to her brother. “You heard the man, Derek - his car needs a tow!” There’s a brief but furious silent conversation between equally intimidating eyebrows, that ends with the guy -  _ Derek _ \- huffing and disappearing into the actual garage of the shop, presumably to get Stiles’ Jeep.

Then the woman turns to Stiles and in two quick steps crosses the distance between them. “Now to you. We’ve got to warm you up before you are completely frozen through.” Her eyes flick down to Stiles’ feet and she adds, mouth quirking slightly: “And clean you up before you’ve completely ruined our carpet.”

Stiles follows her gaze down and realises that he’s been dripping both water and mud all over the expensive looking carpet. Mortified, he starts stammering apologies and promises to get it cleaned, while trying not to think about how much that is going to cost, but the woman waves his words away with a laugh.

“Derek has been bugging me to get rid of it for ages, and honestly, he is right. Who puts a carpet into a garage anyways? So no worries, I promise! I’m Laura by the way, and the grumpy head who has gone to get your car is my brother, Derek.”

She looks at Stiles expectantly and he stares back at her uncomprehendingly for a long moment before he realises he’s supposed to introduce himself now. This day has really messed with his head.

“I’m Stiles,” he quickly says. “Stiles Stilinski. I just moved to Beacon Hills - or well, was supposed to move here today before Roscoe crapped out on me. I’m going to start as a deputy tomorrow at the Sheriff’s Department.”

Laura tilts her head questioningly and asks: “Roscoe?”

“My Jeep,” Stiles explains, feeling his cheeks flaring with heat. “She is an old lady, used to belong to my mum, but very reliable still! For the most part at least.” Thinking about the Jeep makes him realise that he never gave Derek proper instructions where to find her, but Laura just waves away his concerns once more.

“Derek will find it,” she assures him, apparently utterly unconcerned with the  _ how _ of it. “But now let’s get you cleaned up, before he comes back and you are still dripping mud all over our carpet.” 

Guiltily, Stiles looks down at the ever growing puddle beneath him and doesn't protest when Laura grabs his hand and tugs him through the door with the private sign and up a flight of stairs. She points him towards what turns out to be a bathroom and tells him to grab a towel from the cupboard while she gets him some dry clothes. 

Hesitantly, Stiles steps out of his shoes and takes off his outer shirt, looking around him all the while. The bathroom is clean, though not the kind of neat that suggests you're expecting guests any moment. And it's also clearly not a girl's bathroom - there's not many products on display, aside from some hand wash at the sink and, intriguingly, a straight razor. Thus, Stiles assumes this is Derek's bathroom, not Laura's. Which also means this is Derek's straight razor - and these are Derek's clothes Laura is just putting on the toilet lid. 

“Take your time,” she tells him with a smile. “You must be frozen solid by now, you poor thing! I'll be in the kitchen, when you're done - down the hall and to the right.”

Stiles still hurries - he's using up someone else's warm water after all, but even a short hot shower does wonders for his mood and general constitution. For a hot second he considers using the razor, before he decides that that's too personal. Plus, he'd probably cut his own carotid artery if he tried. And dying on her brother's bathroom floor after she saved him from certain death by pneumonia would be very rude towards Laura. And her brother. 

Speaking of Derek, his clothes fit Stiles surprisingly well. They seem to be of a very similar height; Derek is just a little more broadly built it seems, and from what Stiles has seen of him, it's all muscle. 

By the time he emerges from the bathroom - in socks because his shoes are still wet - Laura has a cup of tea ready for him, as well as a bag for his wet clothes. 

“Derek just came back,” she tells him and points him towards a chair. “Let's give him a bit to check up on your car and then we'll go down to hear the verdict.”

Reluctantly, Stiles sits down where she told him to and accepts a cup of tea with mumbled thanks. It feels wrong to just sit in the man's kitchen and drink his tea, wearing his clothes to boot, while he is working on Stiles' Jeep. But hovering next to him probably wouldn't be much appreciated either, so he trusts Laura's judgement and waits. They make small talk for a while - well, it's more Laura grilling Stiles in a very friendly and unobtrusive way, but still - until Laura suddenly stops talking and tilts her head as if she were listening to something only she could hear. Then she says: 

“Alright, let's go down and see how your car's doing.”

Bemused, Stiles brings his cup to the sink, rinsing it quickly and then reluctantly slips into his shoes again. They're no longer soaking wet, but still wet enough to make wearing them a very unpleasant experience. 

Derek is just wiping his hands when they come into the garage, obviously finished with Stiles' Jeep, at least for now, and Stiles absentmindedly marvels at Laura's perfect timing. 

“It was just the battery,” Derek explains as they walk towards him, still focussed on his hands as he’s trying to get the grime off them. “I replaced it and she should be good for now, but I’d really recommend you bring her in for a proper check up soon.” 

Stiles quickly takes the last few steps towards his baby, running his hands soothingly over her hood. It brings him close to Derek, who is  _ still _ cleaning his hands, and Stiles wouldn’t have even realised how close they were, had he not seen Derek’s head jerk up out of the corner of his eyes. When Stiles turns to face him, the first thing he notices are Derek’s eyes. They are a confusing mix of colours that is hard to pin down, at one moment green, then blue, then brown. Stiles even thinks he sees a hint of gold, but that must have been a trick of the light. 

The next thing he notices is how Derek’s nose curls as if he’s smelled something particularly bad. And with how his eyes flicker over Stiles’ body, it seems as though  _ Stiles _ is the something that smells particularly bad. Stiles ducks his head and self-consciously smooths his hands down his borrowed clothes.

“Laura gave them to me,” he explains, and, when all he gets from Derek in response is a grunt, hurriedly adds: “I’ll bring them back tomorrow, promise!”

There’s another grunt and something that sounds suspiciously like Laura is snickering in the background. More than a little disturbed by now, Stiles tries to pull the last shreds of his dignity together and asks: “How much do I owe you?”

“The first visit is free,” Derek says gruffly, and yup, that’s definitely Laura guffawing in the background.

“Well, thank you then,” Stiles says stiffly, grabs his keys and promises himself to bring the clothes back tomorrow, so that he’ll never have to see these weirdos again.

It’s only his first day, but the verdict is definitely clear: Beacon Hills is horrible, and its residents might be even worse.

~*~

The next day, after a not too bad first day at work which had almost reconciled him with Beacon Hills, Stiles brings back his borrowed clothes. They aren't washed because he has neither a washing machine yet nor the laundry salons of Beacon Hills figured out, but he'd promised to bring them today and does not want to give  _ Derek Hale  _ with his wrinkling nose the satisfaction of going back on his word. Plus, the guy had seemed so bothered by Stiles' scent, so what better revenge than to bombard him with even more Eau de Stilinski!

It's strange, though. Or rather, Derek is, when Stiles arrives at the garage. Only, instead of being strangely rude like yesterday, this time he's strangely polite. It's all terribly awkward nevertheless and going by Derek's slightly constipated expression and heavily glowering eyebrows, he seems to think so, too. It makes Stiles' righteous anger deflate like a balloon that's been poked with something sharp because asshole dicks like Jackson? Those he can be mad at, no problem! But awkward, socially inept dicks who just don't know how to act normally? Those he has a weakness for, and not just because he's well aware he falls under that category as well. (At least he hopes so.)

So when Derek opens with some awkward small talk, Stiles doesn't rebuff him, but instead answers with his own awkward attempt at small talk. There's no way that's going to end well, though; Stiles knows himself - sooner or later he's going to make some quip about the history of male circumcision and somehow mortally offend Derek with it. So as soon as the conversation gives him an opening (and yes, it might be a miniscule one, but it still counts!) he thrusts the bag with Derek's clothes forwards and says: 

“Here are your clothes, as promised. Sorry, I couldn't wash them, but I promise I didn't pee on them!”

There's an awkward pause during which Stiles fervently wishes for the ground to open up underneath him. Meanwhile Derek's nostrils flare as though he's not so subtly trying to check if Stiles is lying about that. Seriously, what is up with that guy's nose? Stiles certainly can't smell anything in particular, other than the general oil and petrol scent that seems to cling to every garage and every mechanic. 

Finally, just when Stiles is about to snag the bag back and call this a lost cause, Derek takes it and clears his throat. 

“Thank you,” he says and Stiles realises  _ he  _ has never actually thanked the guy for loaning him clothes in the first place. And here he is, mentally roasting the man for some nose twitches and overgrown eyebrows, while Stiles has been the rude one the entire time!

“No, thank  _ you _ ,” he thus insists hurriedly, feeling his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “You really saved me yesterday - I was wet to the bones!” He thankfully manages to swallow down the stupid boner joke that his brain produces next, though it’s a close call. 

“Well next time, you know who to call, instead of stumbling through the forest,” Derek says, and holy shit, is he flirting? With Stiles?

“But I haven’t got your number,” Stiles replies, trying to sound suggestive rather than just dumb. 

“We have to remedy that then,” Derek says and Stiles almost punches the air in his exhilaration. Strike!

When he leaves, his phone has a new entry and they’ve made vague plans.

Well, they’ve made vague plans when Stiles is going to bring Roscoe over for her thorough check-up, but still. It’s definitely something Stiles can work with. And Derek was  _ definitely _ flirting with him earlier, so Stiles is reasonably sure his efforts won’t go unappreciated.

This encounter has gone into a completely different direction than he’d expected. Honestly, he’s still not sure he likes Beacon Hills very much, but at least it keeps him on his toes. 

~*~

It takes a few weeks until Stiles gets to see Derek again. They text in the meantime and that does already feel like an accomplishment and reveals that Derek has a wicked humour that works even in writing, but they don’t get to meet face to face. The main problem there is that their next planned meetup is still going to be centred around Stiles’ Jeep and apparently everyone and their grandmother scratched up their cars and needs Derek to repair it immediately, so there’s no free slot for Stiles and Roscoe. 

And so far Stiles hasn’t managed to work up the courage to ask for a proper date instead.

He has learned however, that, although Laura and Derek run the car repair shop together, the main occupation of the entire Hale family is the running of a wolf sanctuary. Apparently it’s a family business as much as a family tradition - as long as Beacon Hills can remember, the Hales came with their wolves. They are supposedly all domesticated, and no danger to anyone, but obviously, for as long as the Hales and their wolves have lived in Beacon Hills, another of the old families, the Argents, has protested and lobbied against them. If the wolves really run as freely through the Beacon Hills preserve as Stiles’ own encounter seems to suggest, then he can sort of understand the Argents’ reservations.

On the other hand, the wolf hadn’t acted threatening at all and even apparently shown Stiles the right way. So perhaps the Hales were right when they claimed no danger would come from them. 

At least Stiles certainly hopes so, considering he is currently face to face with the wolf again. Presuming it is the same one of course. And not a more bloodthirsty one. 

Stiles had just wanted to go for a run!

“Err, hello again,” he finally says when the wolf doesn’t move. “Thanks for showing me the way last time. I’d probably still be wandering through these woods if you hadn’t. I’m proud to say that this time I now know how to get back home!”

Why is he making small talk with a wolf? And why is that wolf looking decidedly judgey and as if he’s not believing one word?

“No really!” Stiles thus insists, because arguing with wolves is apparently his life now. “It’s just back there and past that pine tree and then -” But when he turns around to point at said pine tree, there is no tree. Well, there are plenty of trees of course, but no pine trees, which means that Stiles must have gotten turned around somewhere and is - you guessed it - lost again with only a wolf for a guide.

“I suppose it would be too much to ask you to show me the way again?” he asks, not really expecting an answer, because -  _ wolf _ . 

But the wolf lets out a noise that's remarkably similar to a put-on sigh, actually rolls his eyes and then turns away from Stiles. If he didn't know better, he'd say that the wolf genuinely understands him. But that's not possible, is it? And anyways, it's only the second time, so just a coincidence. Third time marks the pattern after all. 

Still, though, should he follow the wolf? He is going in the exact opposite direction Stiles would have turned to get back home, so is this like last time - they both go their opposite ways? But then the wolf turns around after a few steps and looks back at Stiles with an expression on his face that clearly says: “Are you coming or not, you idiot?”

So Stiles follows. 

The sun's not going down for another few hours and his phone is fully charged this time, so if the wolf does end up leading him astray, at least he'll be able to call for help. Even if it would be horribly embarrassing. 

The wolf doesn't seem to be in any hurry; their pace is definitely more of a lazy stroll than a brisk walk, so Stiles has plenty of breath and time to waste. Thus he does what he does best: he rambles. First he tells the wolf about his new job and how while he's definitely still seen as the rookie and getting the rookie jobs, no one is mean about it and he really thinks he'll be trusted with some more important duties soon. The sheriff is a good one, not as good as his dad obviously, but a good guy nevertheless, and perhaps Beacon Hills is not quite as horrible as he first thought.

Which reminds him of their first encounter, which in turn makes him think of Derek, and hey, the wolf should know Derek, shouldn't he? That question gets him another huff which might be taken as an agreement, and that’s definitely good enough for Stiles. He hasn't mentioned Derek to anyone so far, mostly because there's not really anything to mention yet - “Hey dad, wanna hear about the mechanic who lent me some clothes one time and looked after Roscoe? We might have flirted for a bit, but nothing's come of it yet because I haven't even seen him again since.” Yeah right, like that wouldn't lead to another lecture on how to not be a stalker. (In hindsight, Stiles has to admit that he didn't handle his crush on Lydia particularly well. She very much agrees, but thankfully has forgiven him for it. They do make a terrific pair of friends and partners in crime these days.)

But rambling at the wolf shows him that he'd had a much greater need to tell someone about Derek than he'd thought. Somewhere in between waxing rhapsodic about Derek's eyes and beard and forearms and laughing so hard at remembering one of the quips Derek texted him that he finds himself unable to talk, Stiles realises with a start that he's in far deeper already than he'd even thought possible. 

He's so distracted by that thought that he completely misses that the wolf has stopped and thus walks a few steps past him. When he finally takes note of his surroundings he realises that they've reached the edge of the forest, Beacon Hills looming in front of them. The wolf has actually shown him the way out for a second time, but when Stiles turns around again to thank him, he's already disappearing into the bushes. 

Stiles considers going after him for a hot second before admonishing himself to start acting like a sane person already. Not running after wild wolves is the first step. And the second will be to finally do something about this Derek situation. 

~*~

Derek beats him to it, however. 

The next afternoon he gets a text inviting him for a coffee. There’s a new place in Beacon Hills (not that Stiles would be able to tell, to him everything is still new after all) and Derek apparently is in the mood for iced sugary deliciousness. Well,  _ he _ just says coffee, but Stiles knows better. The only good coffee is one that’s been drowned in liters of syrup. Coffee is all Derek offers in his text, but when Stiles looks up the café, it’s right next to the cinema. Stiles tries not to get his hopes up, but  _ what if _ . 

They don’t go to see a movie this time, but when Derek walks Stiles back to his car after their coffee date - ostensibly to check up on Roscoe, but Stiles is totally on to him now - they pass the cinema and make plans to see one of the films advertised next weekend. Stiles totally misses which film they are going to see, because he is inwardly freaking out about really, truly,  _ honestly _ going on a date with Derek Hale, but for said Derek Hale, he’d even brave a French indie drama with way too much attempts at meta-everything, so it really doesn’t matter.

Derek sadly doesn’t press him up against Roscoe when they reach her, but he smiles at Stiles, revealing an adorable set of bunny teeth, and that’s almost as good. Boy, Stiles has it bad. But they’ve already got their second date all set, so kissing may well be on the agenda then, and despite what his dad might say, Stiles can be patient if he wants to. Though the weekend seems really far away right now with all those sad, Derek-less days in between.

Thankfully, Derek seems to feel the same, because instead of just saying goodbye to Stiles, he invites him over for the next day. Well, he says to bring by Roscoe because he’s got the afternoon free, but Roscoe can’t very well drive herself, so Stiles is going to count it as an implicit invitation. It helps that Derek promises cake - apparently Laura bakes when she's stressed. He doesn't elaborate why she's stressed, though, and Stiles doesn't want to seem nosey, so he doesn't ask. It's not as if it's his business anyway. And cake is cake, stress bake or not. 

If Stiles is very honest with himself, he'll admit that seeing Derek is much more important than cake anyway, even if his stomach might disagree. 

With no pressing against Roscoe and snogging happening, Stiles isn't quite sure how to say goodbye though. Should he go for a hug? Wave goodbye? A fistbump? A kiss on the cheek? (Not quite what he wants, but close enough for now.) In the end Derek proves to be even more awkward than Stiles thigh, because he actually offers his hand for a handshake. A handshake! What are they? Eighty?

“I had a good time today,” he says, like a proper choir boy whose mum is hovering over his shoulder and Stiles' mind maybe shortens out for a second. 

“Thank you,” he replies and then quickly corrects himself: “I mean, me too. I'm glad we get to do this again soon.”

Derek ducks his head slightly and it draws Stiles' attention to his ears which are turning red as he's watching. It makes Stiles feel better about his own heated cheeks and sweaty hands. Speaking of hands - neither of them has let go yet, so the handshake has turned into more of a handhold now. Perhaps Derek had been onto something after all. He certainly has very hold-able hands. He's only just finished the thought though, when Derek finally lets go, and runs the hand through his hair - hopefully not to get rid of Stiles' sweat. His hand hadn't been that wet, had it? Perhaps it was just a nervous movement. Stiles would certainly get that. 

“I'll see you tomorrow then?” Derek asks and he sounds so hopeful, as though he's still not gotten that Stiles is a sure thing (god,  _ so sure _ ) that Stiles has to shove his hands into his pockets to stop himself from grabbing Derek and kissing him senseless. 

“Tomorrow,” he promises and then quickly disappears into his jeep before he promises anything else, like having Derek's babies. 

Perhaps not his most graceful exit, but certainly a very necessary one. 

~*~

When he finally gets off work the next day, he doesn't even bother changing, just drives right over in his uniform. He tells himself it's because the garage closes soon, but really, he just wants to show off. The slacks do make his arse look amazing, if he says so himself. He just throws on his raincoat on top, because it's raining buckets again. Beacon Hills hasn't shown him too much of that famed Californian sun yet. But at least he's not lost in the forest this time. 

When he arrives at the garage, it's still raining, so he sprints inside, barely taking notice of the obnoxiously huge SUV that's parked out front. Which is why he's surprised to see an unfamiliar blonde woman in the shop, talking to Derek. 

Well, talking might be too weak a word. She's pressed far into Derek's personal space, who in turn seems to be doing his best to be swallowed up by the desk behind him. Stiles doesn't understand what she's saying to Derek, but he certainly knows the tone well enough. He's not been subject to it much himself (though there was that one instructor), but he's heard enough of his female friends and acquaintances being subjected to it to recognise it.

So he clears his throat pointedly, and is disappointed though not surprised to see that it's not enough to make her move away. She just turns her head to glance at him and dismiss him just as quickly. 

“Can't you see we're busy? Come back later, boy.”

Stiles gapes at her for a second before he looks down at himself and remembers which raincoat he's wearing. It's his Spider-Man one - which is awesome! But also possibly for twelve year olds. It certainly makes him look like one with the hood up. 

So with great pleasure, Stiles shrugs it off - feeling a little like Anastasia or Obi Wan Kenobi, though he hangs it up and doesn't just let it fall - revealing his uniform. 

“I'm sorry, Madam, but I've got an appointment.”

Her eyes are blazing when she turns around again and though she might objectively be quite pretty, Stiles can't help but find her rather ugly right now. Her features smooth out as soon as she takes in his uniform, though, and her voice changes tone, too.

“Oh officer, I’m so sorry, we won’t be but a moment, will we, Derek?” 

Derek just shrinks away from her further and Stiles has had enough.

“Madam, I need you to step away from Mr Hale.”

Her head whips around and even though Stiles had steeled himself for outrage, the icy fire in her eyes almost makes him take a step backwards anyways. 

“I am sorry?”

Her tone has changed again, from dismissive, to flirty, to outraged in just three sentences. Stiles would be impressed if he wasn’t so pissed. 

“I think you understood me quite clearly, Madam,” he replies and then adds: “I’m aware the older generations often have differing understandings when it comes to consent, but I assure you the police does not and we take harassment very seriously.”

“Older generations?” she gasps, and why is Stiles not surprised that she’s focusing on this rather than the harassment accusation. “Do you even know who I am?”

“No, and I don’t care either, Madam,” he returns and wonders whether ‘My father will hear about this’ is going to come next. “Harassment charges apply whoever you might be.”

“I’m your future mayor,” she bites out and adds venomously: “And I will not forget about this, Officer…” 

She trails off, obviously expecting him to give her his name, but like hell is Stiles going to make it that easy on her.

“Neither will I, Madam,” he replies, because that threat goes both ways and apparently she needs reminding. Her eyes blaze with fury, but Stiles just holds her gaze calmly until finally she jerks her chin upward haughtily and storms out of the room.

“Just wait until election day,” is her parting shot and Stiles mutters: “I’m certainly not going to vote for you, that’s for sure.”

A snort reminds him of Derek’s continued presence and Stiles feels his cheeks heating up with an embarrassed flush.

“She’s not really our future mayor, is she? Because I like my job!”

Thankfully, Derek shakes his head.

“Her chances aren’t terrible and her family has held the position for most of the century, but most of the town are growing tired of their rather hereditary understanding of democracy I think and her opponent is far more likely to win, I think. At least I hope so.”

Stiles tries to bring the posters that are hung up all over town into focus in front of his inner eye and a name suddenly comes to his mind.

“She’s called Kate, isn’t she?”

“Yes, Kate Argent,” Derek says, and Stiles is surprised by the venom in his voice. Then again, the Argents are well known in town for being firmly against the Hales’ wolf reserve, so perhaps the animosity makes sense after all. 

“Who is her opponent?” Stiles asks. “Just so I know who to vote for obviously.”

“My brother actually,” Derek says and Stiles furrows his brows in confusion because he thinks he would have noticed the name ‘Hale’ on the posters. Derek apparently can read his mind, though, because he adds: “He took his wife’s last name.”

“I didn't know you had any siblings besides Laura,” Stiles says and hopes it doesn't sound accusatory. They've barely had their first date so far, the guy is allowed to have some secrets still! Siblings however will probably forever be endlessly fascinating to Stiles, only child that he is. 

“Jonathan is the oldest of us,” Derek offers readily enough. “Then there's Laura and me, and finally Cora, the baby. Though you're liable to get your teeth kicked in if you say that to her face.”

“A woman to my own taste!” Stiles exclaims and Derek smiles. 

“I think you two will get along very well, when you meet,” he says and Stiles smiles softly at the thought of meeting Derek's family, at this working out well. 

“I'd like that,” he replies and doesn't just mean meeting Cora. 

For a long moment they just stand there smiling at each other, until Stiles finally plucks up his courage and addresses what they've neatly avoided so far:

“I hope I didn't overstep earlier,” he says, “and if I did I'm very sorry. I just wanted to say that I meant what I said - we do take harassment very seriously and I'd gladly bear witness for you if you wanted to act against her.”

The smile slips from Derek's face and his face closes off slightly, though Stiles has a feeling it's more at the mention of Kate Argent than because of him speaking up about the earlier situation. At least he hopes so. 

“Thank you,” Derek says quietly after a long pause that makes Stiles want to squirm. “Thank you for earlier and for your offer, but it's honestly alright, don't worry.”

“No, it's not alright,” Stiles returns, surprised by his own vehemence. “It's not alright for her to corner you at your work, ignore all your signals and touch you without your permission. I'm sorry, I'm definitely overstepping now and I won't press you further, but I just need to be sure you know that. Her actions were not right and you are allowed to feel so.”

To his surprise his impromptu tirade seems to relax Derek, a small smile again playing around his lips. 

“Okay, it's not alright, it's honestly a bit fucked up, but I'll be alright, Stiles, promise.”

“I'll be the judge of that,” Stiles mutters, but it's a half-hearted retort at best and Derek can apparently tell. 

“I'd like that,” he repeats Stiles' earlier words and Stiles again feels as though they are talking about more than just the immediately obvious. And once more they just stand there smiling at each other and Stiles honestly thinks they wouldn't have moved had Laura not come bounding in from the rain then. 

She shakes herself out like a dog, seemingly not taking any notice of Derek and Stiles, and sniffs the air. 

“Is that Kate Argent I smell?” she demands and Stiles tries to remember if Kate wore any strong perfume earlier. “I hope you threw her out, Derek!”

“Stiles did,” Derek replies, and despite their earlier conversation Stiles is surprised to hear pride in Derek's voice. When he turns to look at him, Derek is studiously avoiding his eyes, but Stiles can still see his ears and how red they've become. 

“Good,” Laura says with feeling and ruffles Stiles' hair as she passes him. “This calls for chocolate I think, you guys keep staring at each other in silence, I'll call you up when the cake is done,” she adds and disappears up the stairs. 

Perhaps she hadn't been so oblivious after all, Stiles thinks and sneaks a furtive look at Derek only to find him already staring back. There's a brief moment where neither moves and Stiles doesn't even dare breathe, then they both collapse into laughter. 

It suits Derek, Stiles thinks. 

~*~

Meeting Derek's family happens a little differently than Stiles had expected. 

A few weeks have passed and Stiles and Derek have gone on more dates - mostly coffee dates, but also some more films. There’s also a lot of cake from Laura. And strangely enough a lot of backflips.

Derek seems to be incapable of taking any stairs the regular way. Stiles doesn’t know whether it’s the tight jeans or what, but Derek never takes a stair step by step if he can help it. And by help it, he means jump down it. The first time he jumps down a flight of stairs, Stiles’ heart skips more than one beat. Because Derek doesn’t just jump two or three steps at a time, but five to ten at a time. If Stiles hadn’t seen it with his own eyes, he’d have thought such heights impossible to jump - if Stiles tried it, he’d surely break a leg or two. But when he says so, Derek just laughs and tells him he needs to eat less cake. Stiles just sticks out his tongue.

When he’s just about gotten used to Derek’s stair jumping antics, heart no longer beating out of his chest whenever Derek jumps, Derek ups the stakes. 

They are on their third proper date, in some tiny hole in the wall restaurant above a bookshop. The access is by an outside staircase and after dinner, Stiles teases Derek whether walking or jumping down the steps is going to threaten his jeans more. They are extra tight tonight, and Stiles has very much appreciated the view. That doesn’t mean he can’t pull a little on Derek’s metaphorical pigtails, though. 

Derek’s answer is to smirk, hold Stiles’ gaze for as long as possible - and backflip down the stairs. 

It’s now Stiles’ turn to be glad for his own pair of unnecessarily tight jeans, which constrict his nether regions too much to allow any obvious boner situations to happen. He still walks down the stairs extra carefully, gingerly taking them step by step until he’s finally standing opposite Derek again, who is still, or again, smirking. It doesn’t help with Stiles’ potential boner situation. Derek’s nostrils flare - and really, someday Stiles will have to ask what’s going on there, the only reason he hasn’t yet is because what if the answer is that he stinks? - and then his smirk grows, until he looks like a particularly well fed cat that still got an extra serving of cream. Ugh, wrong image, brain, wrong image. Mission: keep boner down is looking increasingly like a lost case.

And now Derek the cat looks like he got both extra cream and the canary.

“It’s nice to know my efforts are appreciated,” he jokes and Stiles shoves him playfully, then starts walking towards their cars, Derek falling into step besides him.

“Oh, I’m going to appreciate you,” Stiles promises, and bites back a grin when Derek misses his next step and stumbles. It’s the most explicit hint he’s dropped so far, though their flirting has been vast and varied. It’s all been mostly innocent, though. 

They're taking it slow, glacially slow almost, but Stiles finds himself enjoying it, truly getting to know someone before the physical comes into play. Plus, after the situation with Kate Argent, he's extra conscious of not building up any pressure. Derek would probably roll his eyes, but he deserves slow wooing, even if not everyone can see that, and Stiles is determined to give him that. 

What's definitely under pressure though is his belt. All that cake from Laura had to go somewhere and it seems to have chosen his belly. So Stiles is back in the preserve for another run. He has mainly stuck to the streets of town lately, not wanting to create a pattern of getting lost in the forest. But the weather's so nice today and he doesn't want to turn into someone afraid of going into the forest, so running under trees it is. 

To be on the safe side, his phone is fully charged and recording his every step, so he can retrace it just in case. Just in case!

He parks the Jeep at one of the trailhead parking places, but it doesn't take him long to get away from the well trodden paths, from the parents with children and dog walkers into the parts of the woods that probably see more deer than humans. He's still following a path, though, not running between trees all willy-nilly (let no one say Stiles doesn't learn from his mistakes).

It’s peaceful out here, deep within the forest, something he hadn’t really had a chance to appreciate properly the last times he was here. There’s bird song above him and rustling behind him - and howling in front of him?

Stiles picks up his speed, running towards the noise. Whatever is further along the path it is hurt. From the noise, Stiles would guess on a dog, but it might also be a child, and if it’s a dog, there might be another human not too far, possibly also hurt. But three times makes a pattern, so who else should Stiles meet in the forest again, but the black wolf.

This time, however, it’s not Stiles that’s in distress; it’s the wolf. He has been caught in a trap, and Stiles swallows when he catches a glimpse of his leg, mangled and bloody. The wolf stops howling when he sees Stiles, but the soft whining noise he lets out instead is almost worse. 

“Oh shit,” Stiles breathes and falls to his knees next to the wolf, who huffs tiredly. 

“Alright, I’m hoping really hard you can actually understand me because you need to hold still, buddy, okay? And not bite my hand or head off please. That’d be nice.”

The wolf rumbles low in his chest in what Stiles decides to interpret as acquiescence. He still decides to announce his next move aloud.

“I’ll have a closer look now, alright? There has to be a release mechanism somewhere.”

He leans in and then has to lean back again immediately, swallowing down bile. Up close, the leg looks even worse. And the smell of it - Stiles fervently hopes it isn’t the infamous scent of death yet. He tries breathing with his mouth next, but that’s even worse. Now he’s got the taste of blood on his tongue. 

The wolf whines softly and Stiles shakes himself. Time to focus. 

He takes a deep breath, trying to ignore all sensations that come with it and then holds his breath while he’s studying the trap. 

It’s vicious, with metal spikes and sharpened teeth, that dig deeper into the wounded flesh if the wolf moves ever so slightly. It seems to be covered in some strange oily substance that Stiles can’t identify, leaves and dirt clinging to it. It had probably been hidden underneath them and the wolf had stepped onto it by sheer coincidence. He’d never stood a chance.

Stiles is suddenly filled with rage at whoever laid this trap. What kind of human does that? And why would anyone do this? Who could be so filled with hate? Against innocent animals?

He bites his lip to get himself back under control and sharply reminds himself to focus. Mentally raging at the ones responsible won’t help his wolf. Now where is that damned release mechanism?

Then finally he sees it, a small lever half hidden behind the wolf’s leg. Stiles breathes out a sigh of relief and then addresses the wolf again: “I’ll release your leg now. I’m sorry, it’s probably going to hurt, and I’d be really grateful if you could not bite me for it.”

The wolf huffs again and almost seems to steel himself. At this point Stiles is almost used to how freakishly human the wolf acts sometimes, so he just follows his example and steels himself as well. Pressing the lever is harder than expected, it doesn’t want to move at first and Stiles has to lean on it heavily, which in turn jostles the wolf, whose hurt leg is in the way. Then finally it gives way.

The sound of metal teeth ripping themselves free of bloodied flesh is the worst thing Stiles has ever heard. The wounds gush anew with blood, filling Stiles’ nose and mouth with metal, and he jerks away, hectically swallowing to keep down his lunch. 

He had not really thought much beyond opening up the trap and freeing the wolf, but that’s because Stiles had expected him to fall down once he no longer has to hold himself up in order not to hurt himself anymore. Instead, the wolf first lurches to the side once the trap is gone around his leg, and then takes off into the forest. He is visibly limping, but still astonishingly fast. Fast enough to be out of sight by the time Stiles has made it to his feet, yelling at the wolf to stop all the while. 

He has half a wild thought of following the blood tracks the wolf must surely be leaving behind, but he never even got that badge at the boy scouts, and even if he managed to find the wolf by pure chance, he did just run away from Stiles so there’s no guarantee he wouldn’t run again as soon as Stiles spotted him. And what would Stiles even do if he caught him ? He’s a cop, not a vet!

It’s definitely time to call in the reinforcements.

~*~

Unfortunately the reinforcements don’t answer their phone.

Stiles tries three times, but he only ever reaches Derek’s mail box. He doesn’t have Laura’s number and doesn’t even know the name of any other Hale. What he does know, however, is where the rest of the Hale family lives. Vaguely at least. 

They live at the edge of the preserve, a bit away from town. Stiles has never been there obviously, but he’s driven past the private road that leads to their house often enough. It’s just a little further out than Derek and Laura's garage and Stiles finds the turn easily enough. The road is well paved, but longer than he expects, and just as he considers turning back because he must have gone wrong somewhere, he turns another corner and sees the house. 

It's more of a sprawling mansion actually, three storeys high and with several equally high extensions attached. There are no cars parked up front, but the road leads on along the house to what must be the garage, though by size it might as well be another house. The whole thing screams money and power and Stiles gets a whole new appreciation for why Derek lives so close to, but nevertheless separately from his family. From what he's told Stiles, they seem to be very loving, but also a bit overbearing and if the size of the house is anything to go by, they  _ all _ live together. For single child raised by single parent Stiles, that is a rather terrifying constellation. 

But he's not here today because they're Derek's family, but because they are probably the ones who care for his wolf, and hopefully the ones to help him. So Stiles steels himself and finally goes up to ring the bell. 

The door opens before he even reaches the last step though. The woman who comes out must be Derek's mother, the similarity to him and Laura is uncanny. Down to the weird nose flaring. 

“Derek-” she starts saying and then narrows her eyes when she sees it is Stiles instead. Stiles automatically lifts his hands in supplication, feeling rather like the prey in front of the snake, and they both stare at blood still clinging to his hands. Stiles hadn't even realised he'd not even attempted to clean his hands and he shudders at the thought of getting that out of the Jeep again. 

He resists the sudden urge to wipe them on his jeans and instead just lowers them again. 

“Sorry to just barge in on you like that, Mrs Hale, but I wasn't sure what else to do, Derek isn't answering his phone,” he says and she inclines her head in silent acknowledgment. 

“What happened, Stiles?” she asks and Stiles blinks. 

“How do you know my name?” he demands instead of answering her question, but she just smiles faintly. 

“Derek has told us enough about you - and your Jeep,” she replies and Stiles feels his cheeks heat up.

“Oh, right,” he stammers, somewhat at a loss and then forcibly pulls himself together again. He came here with a purpose and not just to make an ass of himself in front of Derek's mum. 

“One of your wolves is hurt, I believe. He's a big, black one, not super approachable, but very helpful and with a great sense of direction. Some asshole put out bear traps in the forest and he got caught in one. I released him but he ran away before I could do anything else. I don't even know how he managed that, his leg looked really bad.”

Mrs Hale has turned very pale, but there's a fire burning in her eyes that makes Stiles want to shrink away, even though he's pretty sure it's not directed at him. 

Still, her voice is calm and controlled as she says: “Thank you, Stiles, we are in your debt.”

She sounds sincere too and not as if she'd accept any objections, so Stiles just nods silently in acknowledgment. 

“Was the trap covered in anything?” she asks and Stiles is suddenly glad he hasn't cleaned his hands yet. Some of the oily substance is still clinging to them and he's unsure how he'd be able to describe it otherwise. When he tells her as much, Mrs Hale gently takes him by the wrist and lifts his hands up to sniff at them. Stiles hadn't noticed any scent beyond the stench of blood, but she must have a better nose than he does because her face scrunches up in disgust. 

“I see,” is all she says though and Stiles doesn't dare ask what that might be, even though his curiosity has been piqued now. “Won't you come in to wash your hands?” She offers instead, adding quickly: “But please don't touch anything before you've done so.”

“Of course not,” Stiles promises, and is promptly lead inside. The house looks far less stately inside than it does from the outside, he's surprised to see. Yes, the entry hall is big, but it's also well filled with knick knacks and coats and wellies that make feel it homely and lived in rather than awe-inspiring and cold. He just catches a glimpse of an equally big but homely living room before Mrs Hale shows him into a small toilet. She grabs a nondescript bottle from the cupboard under the sink and tells him that should do the trick to get his hands clean. 

Finally she shows small signs of losing her composure, nervous glances towards the door, her body leaning forward as if ready for a sprint, barely holding herself back from running into the woods. Stiles tries to hurry, but the oil and blood are stubborn and stick to his hands even when he scrubs at them. 

Mrs Hale musters him once more and apparently comes to a decision. Stiles expects her to politely throw him out, but instead she says: “Just close the door behind you when you leave, would you? Again, thank you for everything you've done, I'll make Derek give you a call, I promise.”

There's a twinkle in her eyes at the last remark that forces colour into Stiles' cheeks again despite his best efforts to keep it down. Before he can say anything though, Mrs Hale leans forward and brushes a barely there kiss along his cheek and then simply disappears out the door while Stiles stares after her, speechless. 

It takes him a considerate amount of time to pull himself together and then again quite some time to get his hands cleaned. By the time he's done he has already spent more time alone in someone else's home than he's comfortable with, so the awkwardness easily overpowers the instinct to snoop around a little. 

What he can't resist, however, is having a closer look at the family pictures put up in the entry hall. Those are meant to be admired after all and admire them Stiles does. It becomes clear very quickly that the entire Hale family is supernaturally beautiful. The future mayor comes more after Mr Hale, same with the youngest sister, though she shares the threatening eyebrows of doom with Derek. 

There's also another middle aged man who resembles Mrs Hale with a tiny blonde who seems to be his wife and an adorable little baby. Finally there's an older woman who reminds Stiles of his Babcia - not because they resemble each other beyond both having white hair, but because she has the same look in her eyes that threatens too much food, served with loving jabs at when he's going to settle down. 

Stiles' favourite pictures are the ones of Derek, though. There's one of him and Laura that was obviously taken for prom, Derek looking awkward in a not quite fitting suit, and another where he'd apparently accompanied his younger sister to her prom, too, this time filling out his suit much better. 

Another one he recognises because it hangs in the garage as well, which must have been taken when they opened it - Laura grinning widely, Derek looking much more composed, but still proud. 

And finally, there are the ones of baby Derek, ears, teeth, and eyebrows too big for his face, but still so stinkingly cute. Stiles strokes a finger down baby Derek's plump cheek and then finally gets out of there before he does anything even more mortifying, like kiss the picture of Derek at prom.

~*~

It takes Derek three days to call him and Stiles - who suddenly remembers that security cameras are a thing and who consequently fears there is proof of him lovingly stroking a picture - spends all of them on pins and needles. 

When he finally hears Derek's voice again, he's shocked how tired he sounds. So his first question is after Derek's health, rather than the wolf, like he'd planned. 

“Are you okay, dude? You don't sound so great,” he asks and Derek huffs tiredly.

“Don't call me dude,” he complains, but it's half-hearted at best, which only serves to make Stiles worry even more. “I'm alright - I hurt my leg and it's been a bitch to wait for it to heal. Plus, I've been in the tender loving care of my parents and grandmother the last few days, and Uncle Peter is no help either. That's also why I'm only calling now, I didn't want them to eavesdrop.”

“Are you back in your flat now?” Stiles asks, trying to ignore his mind sending up vivid imagery of what Derek might be planning to talk about that he wouldn't want his parents to overhear. (It's phone sex. Derek is hurt and Stiles' mind goes straight to phone sex. Sometimes he really worries about himself.)

“Would you like some soup and perfect entertainment?” he offers, explaining: “My Babcia's chicken soup is the best for broken hearts as well as broken bones as she always assures me and I haven't seen the original trilogy in way too long.”

“That actually sounds perfect,” Derek says and Stiles' heart jumps a beat at how sincere he sounds. 

“Okay, give me an hour and a half or so and I'll be over with soup and our Queen and Saviour, Leia Organa.”

“You could also come over right now and make the soup here? I could help,” Derek offers and Stiles finds himself grinning stupidly. 

“I could do that,” he agrees and adds: “I might have to hop into the store for one or two things, but I won't be more than half an hour.”

“Hurry,” is what he thinks Derek mumbles just before he hangs up, and Stiles makes it there in under twenty minutes. 

~*~

Derek is waiting for him at the back door which leads straight up to his flat without having to go through the garage, and he's honestly looking even worse than Stiles expected. He's pale, with dark purple bags under his eyes, his hair is a mess and he seems to have lost weight. He looks more like someone coming off a bad case of the flu than a twisted ankle, but with the way he's leaning against the door frame, it's clear he's favouring his right leg. 

“What are you doing out of bed?” Stiles chastises and herds Derek inside. “You look like death warmed over, dude.”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek repeats and Stiles rolls his eyes. “Would you prefer I call you a dumbass? Because I can do that, too! You should be under a blanket; seriously, what did you do to your foot, you look absolutely terrible.”

“Thanks a lot for that,” Derek grumbles, but he lets himself be stirred towards the couch, where a mountain of blankets is already waiting. Stiles helps wrap him up in them and can’t stop himself from smoothing them down. Derek’s head drowsily follows his movement and Stiles automatically smooths down his hair, too. He snatches his hand back when he realises what he’s doing and Derek grumbles low in his chest. 

“Try to take a nap, while I make the soup, okay? You look as though you need it,” Stiles advises, voice slightly scratchier than usual. Derek just hums and buries his face in the blankets. It almost looks like he’s sniffing at them, though that doesn’t make a lot of sense - sickness blankets never smell great in Stiles’ experience. 

Just as he’d expected, Derek already looks much better after a short nap and better again after he’s eaten some soup. He even sits up far enough that there’s enough space on the couch for Stiles to sit down, too, though he slumps down again almost immediately, until his head almost comes to rest on Stiles’ shoulder. That’s how they watch Episode IV, and Stiles would almost say they’re cuddling. 

Shortly before the first death star explodes, Derek’s head sinks fully onto Stiles’ shoulders and as the credits start to roll, he starts snoring. There’s obviously no point in starting Episode V now, so Stiles just steals one of the blankets from Derek’s pile and carefully moves them both into a slightly more comfortable position. 

He might not be sick himself, but a nap won’t hurt. 

~*~

It takes a week for Derek’s leg to heal, which is quicker than Stiles expects and apparently far longer than Derek finds acceptable because he acts the entire week like a lion caught in a cage. 

Or perhaps one of those poor injured cats with the cones of shame on their heads. Not that Stiles would ever dare say that to his face. 

(Laura would appreciate it though.)

Stiles comes over for soup and the rest of the original trilogy twice more and each time they fall asleep on the couch together. It’s all very domestic - and very platonic. And Derek has been sick, still isn’t at full strength again, and Stiles  _ knows _ that, and it’s not as if he’d wanted to have sex on every half-way appropriate surface (at least not while Derek is sick), but he still can’t help feeling discouraged. A kiss wouldn’t be too much to expect at this point, would it?

It’s all he wants - some acknowledgement that they are on a path away from mere friendship.

But Derek still keeps him at arm’s length, despite the falling asleep on Stiles’ shoulder and all the flirting via text and face to face. Because there was flirting! Stiles might not be Casanova, but he’s not blind either. There is something between them, he’s sure of it, but as long as Derek refuses to address it, he doesn’t feel comfortable pushing either. 

Waiting is getting harder, though, especially as he doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, or even for sure if there’s anything worth waiting for. 

Laura hasn’t been helping either.

When she had first seen him after the incident with the wolf, she’d hugged him hard, as if he’d saved her brother or something. Her embrace had been so strong that Stiles had had trouble breathing. The lightheadedness probably explained why it felt as though Laura was rubbing her face in his neck while hugging him. Loss of breath caused hallucinations, didn’t it?

But since that first, over enthusiastic greeting, she’d made a complete turn around and seemed to have somewhere else to be as soon as Stiles came into the vicinity. Oh, he still got long and hard hugs, bordering on uncomfortable, but she disappeared quickly nevertheless. The pointed looks Stiles has caught her throwing at Derek and the whispered threats to “Talk to him or I will” would make Stiles fear he was going to be broken up with, if there was anything to break up. See his primary problem.

By the end of the week, Stiles is at his wits’ end and his patience is running thin. He makes a promise to himself to address  _ this _ , whatever it is, by the end of the weekend, but once again Derek beats him to the punch.

On Saturday he gets a message to meet Derek in the woods. 

That’s literally all it says: “Meet me in the woods.” 

And Stiles’ inquiries as to where precisely they are supposed to meet receive no answer. So he decides to simply follow in his own footsteps and use the same path he’d been on when he stumbled across the wolf. Let Mr “Meet me in the woods” find him, if he refuses to give clearer instructions. If nothing else, this way Stiles will be able to check whether anyone has thought to remove the bear trap in the meantime, so that no one else can step into it and get hurt. Over the whole strange conversation with Mrs Hale and with Derek having gotten hurt as well, he’d completely forgotten about the trap. 

The day is nice at least, and Stiles’ initial annoyance at being commanded to the forest vanishes with the scent of pine needles in his nose and the sound of bird song in his ears. As he’d expected however, there is no Derek anywhere in sight. At least the bear trap is gone as well when he reaches the place where the wolf got hurt. The only signs anything out of the ordinary happened here is the disturbed forest floor and the brown reddish spot between the crushed leaves that Stiles realises with a shudder is the wolf’s dried blood. He must have lost far more blood than Stiles had realised, if it’s still visible after more than a week. 

“I haven’t even thanked you yet,” a voice suddenly says behind him and Stiles almost falls into the dried pool of blood.

“Dude, what the fuck!” he complains when he has enough breath again to do so and glares at Derek who has found him against all odds. “And what do you mean, thank me? For coming into the woods? We could have just met at the edge and walked in together, if you fancied some fresh air, but that’s nothing you need to thank me for.”

“I owe you an explanation,” Derek continues with his dramatic statements, as if Stiles had said nothing at all. Stiles frowns and takes a proper look at him for the first time. Derek looks nervous almost, fingers fidgeting with the string on the sweatpants he’s wearing, his eyes flitting from side to side, as if checking for threats,  _ and _ he’s biting his lips. All in all, it’s a rather unsettling display from someone who just told Stiles to come meet him in the woods. 

“Is it Kate Argent again?” Stiles asks, suddenly anxious himself. “Has she bothered you again? We can still do something about her, you know.”

“No,” Derek says, and to Stiles’ surprise he smiles. “I’m not here because of her - though I guess she does have something to do with it.”

“Now you’re just speaking in riddles,” Stiles groans helplessly and Derek ducks his head, as if chastised. But when he speaks, a grin plays around his mouth.

“Not riddles I mean to speak, but apologise I must. Do or do not, after all, there is no try.”

“Ugh, shut up, Yoda,” Stiles gripes, and tries to ignore the sudden warmth under his breastbone. 

“I do need to tell you something,” Derek says, suddenly serious again. “Something important, and I hope it won’t make you think differently of me.”

“Is that secret the reason why you’ve been so - distant?” Stiles asks. Distant isn’t quite right, but it’s the best thing he can come up with right now that doesn’t make him sound like a 12 year old girl ignored by her penpal. 

But thankfully Derek seems to get what he’s trying to get at, because he nods, looking chagrined. 

“I, I really like you, Stiles, and I would like to - take you out, properly, but I didn’t want to start us off on a lie.”

“I really like you, too,” Stiles returns, but the relief that he hasn’t been imagining things, that there  _ is _ something between them and that Derek feels the same quickly turns into dread when Derek does not look similarly relieved or at least ever so slightly happy at Stiles’ confession.

“I just hope you still feel the same after this,” he replies grimly and Stiles narrows his eyes in suspicion.

“Dude, you are not the Mafia, are you? I’m a cop, man! And not a corrupt one, if you thought that. God, I knew there was something fishy going on with your family all alone deep in the woods. What are the wolves for then? Just a deflection, a front? Or do they carry drugs for you or something? Seriously, I’m not going to become crooked, not even for you! My dad would kill me!” He scrubs a hand across his face, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to think. “Or wait, is that literal in your case? Is your family going to kill you? Are you and Laura trying to break free? Is that why you live and work separately from the rest of your family?”

Stiles probably would have gone on for another ten minutes if not a actual growl had stopped him in his tracks. He opens his eyes and takes a stumbling step backwards, landing on his ass.

Where Derek stood just a moment ago, a wolf is now in his place . Standing and growling at him.

And as Stiles watches with wide eyes, the wolf transforms into Derek. Naked Derek.

“You are not the Mafia,” Stiles whispers and Derek shakes his head. Other things move as well. Stiles hurriedly fixes his eyes on Derek’s face, aware that his own is burning crimson.

“No, we are not. We are werewolves, Stiles, and some might think that’s even worse.”

Suddenly a lot of things make sense.

“The Argents?” he guesses, and Derek nods. “The bear trap! Your leg! That was you, wasn’t it?”

Derek nods again, and Stiles’ brain whirs and then slows again as the puzzle pieces start to fall together.

“It was all you, wasn’t it? The wolf in the forest, every time. That’s why he understood me so well and could show me the way out of the forest!”

Derek nods again, looking slightly sheepish, but also slightly less apprehensive, so Stiles counts it as a win.

“Dude, forget about thanking me, I need to thank you! I honestly had no idea where I was - either time!”

A small smile flits across Derek’s face, but it’s all too quickly chased away again by a more unsure expression:

“So you are not -”

He hesitates and Stiles completes the question for him: “Disgusted? Scared? Mentally preparing inhumane bear traps? God no! This is the coolest thing that has ever happened to me! And I thought meeting a wolf was cool! But now it turns out he’s a werewolf! And said werewolf is my hot boyfriend!”

His voice breaks slightly on the last word, overwhelmed by his own boldness. But Derek just smiles, more broadly this time, and doesn’t correct him.

“So you don’t have any questions?”

“Dude, I have  _ so many questions _ ,” Stiles says with feeling, and by God he does. And as soon as he’s had a moment to sort his thoughts, he’ll have even more. But for the moment, only one is truly important:

“Does that mean I can finally kiss you now?”

Derek ducks his head, but Stiles can still see his eyes crinkle with a smile and his ears light up with a blush. 

“If you stop calling me ‘Dude’.”

Stiles finally scrambles to his feet again and hesitantly steps towards Derek who is looking at him as if he still expects Stiles to run any second now. They can’t have that, so Stiles straightens his shoulders and sets his chin, trying to radiate determination. His hands are still careful and gentle though, as he slips one arm around Derek’ waist and the other around his shoulders. Derek copies him, though one hand of his immediately moves up and into Stiles’ hair, curling around the back of his head. It’s enough to send Stiles’ heart into overdrive already, and he worries about what will happen when they finally kiss. It’d be very disappointing to die from a heart attack just after he’d finally gotten to kiss his hot werewolf boyfriend. 

That just has such a nice ring to it, Stiles will have trouble not to yell it to the world at large.

“I can hear you thinking,” Derek says, voice quiet, but teasing. 

“Can you really?” Stiles asks, eyes wide again. ‘Are you Edward?’ he thinks and Derek promptly says:   
  


“No, I’m not Edward. I’m not Jacob either, before you start; I’m not here because I’m going to fall in love with your weirdly named daughter. I can hear your heart though, and how it skips a beat when I do  _ this _ .”

He buries his hand deeper into Stiles’ hair and tugs slightly. His other hand dips lower, settling into the small of Stiles’ back, and Stiles can indeed feel his heart skip a beat. He’s not to be outdone by the big bad wolf, though, so he moves his hands, too, one to Derek’s jaw, the other daringly low on his back, almost on the swell of his still naked arse. Right, and he’d done so well ignoring the nudity so far. He might have just played himself more than Derek. Still, no risk, no gain, so he asks, voice more hoarse than he’d expected:

“How about now?”

“Now we’re on the same page,” Derek replies and finally leans in to press his lips against Stiles’. Given that one of them is naked, the kiss is surprisingly chaste, just a dry movement of lips against lips, and over before Stiles can fully appreciate it, Derek’ nose brushing softly against Stiles’ as he moves away, like another, even chaster kiss.

Derek doesn’t move far, though, his face still close enough that they are breathing each other’s air. Otherwise Stiles isn’t sure he would have heard him, his voice is so soft on his next words:

“I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time.”

“Me too,” Stiles admits, finding himself whispering as well. Anything louder than a breath of air feels like it would break the magic of the moment. Wait, werewolves exist, does that mean magic is real as well? Stiles mentally gives himself a slap up the head. There are more important things to concentrate on right now. Like hot werewolf boyfriends and their kisses. 

“How about we start making up for lost time now?” he suggests instead of asking the million other questions that are falling all over each other in his head. 

“I like the way you think,” Derek grins and then adds, more soberly: “I like _ you _ .”

“I like you too,” Stiles replies, and it feels as though they’ve both just skidded past another word starting with ‘l’. It’s definitely too early for that, though - they’ve only just kissed for the first time! - so Stiles draws Derek closer again to shut them both up before either of them says too much.

When Derek’s mouth descends on his once more, the kiss is still gentle, but definitely more passionate, with a touch of tongue and the slightest hint of teeth. And it continues, keeps going until Stiles’ lips start to tingle and he has to wrap his arms more securely around Derek to keep upright. It’s almost enough to shut down Stiles’ brain, but then Stiles’ hand slips down and curves around Derek’s ass, which is still deliciously naked and that derails his thoughts into the completely opposite direction.

“Where are your clothes? Did they just disappear when you transformed? Why don’t they transform back with you? Do you store extra clothes in secret places so you can transform back anywhere? Does the magic think they are part of you? Your skin?”

These are all very valid questions in Stiles’ opinion, but Derek’s face suggests he’s worrying for Stiles’ mental health. 

“I took them off before I transformed?” he says slowly, as if talking to a child. “Because otherwise they’d rip and I don’t want to keep buying new clothes. Why the hell would they disappear when I transform? It’s just my body - like yours would get fat if you ate too many curly fries.” 

With that he pokes Stiles playfully into the belly and Stiles stumbles backwards with a wordless cry of protest. That brings the pile of clothes into his sight of view and huh, looks like Derek spoke the truth. It is the explanation that makes the most sense if Stiles is honest, but it’s also the most boring one. Does explain why Derek was wearing sweatpants, though. Getting out of those tight jeans he seems to prefer usually would have been much slower and stolen most of the drama of the sudden transformation into a wolf. 

And Derek does like his drama, Stiles has learned by now. 

The werewolf thing still doesn’t explain why he’d rather somersault down stairs then walk them down. Unless - 

“Are werewolves allergic to stairs? Because you never walk down them properly!” he asks and to his surprise Derek blushes a rather fetching shade of violent pink. He mumbles something that Stiles has no hope of understanding and then repeats himself more clearly when Stiles prods him to:

“I might have been showing off.”

Stiles bites his lip to keep down the grin that wants to spread across his face and steps closer to Derek again, leaning in to whisper conspiratorially into his ear: 

“It worked.”

Then he steals another kiss, quick but full of promise and ends it with a daring slap to Derek’s shapely behind.

“Now come on and get dressed again. As much as I enjoy the view, indecent exposure is a crime and I’d hate to arrest you, Mr Hale. I’ve still got so many questions for you and while I wouldn’t mind figuring out how good you look in handcuffs I’d rather do it at home.”

That brings the flush on Derek’s cheeks back with full force, but he retaliates by pulling Stiles in close again and whispering, no,  _ growling  _ into his ear: “Handcuffs won’t be enough to keep me away from you, Little Red.”

The hot air tickling his ear and neck is enough to shut down his brain for a moment, but when he finally comes back online, he looks down and remembers that oh yes, he’d actually worn a red hoodie today to meet a wolf in the forest. Funny how the universe works sometimes. He doesn’t much fancy the original ending of that fairy tale, though. He much prefers the wolf to be the hero in his fairy tales. That way they can get their own happy ever after.

Thus he presses into Derek’s embrace and returns: “This Little Red Riding Hoodie would very much like to be caught, though, so come and catch me.”

Then he cops another feel, because Stiles is nothing if not an opportunist, and finally breaks out of Derek’s hold and runs for it. 

Behind him a growl rises through the forest and Stiles laughs, exhilaration pounding through his veins.

“Don’t forget to get dressed first, though!” he yells over his shoulder. “The police don’t play favourites!”

Then he focuses on his feet, because this won’t be no fun if he breaks his leg and he’s determined to lead his wolf on a merry chase around the forest. The catch will be all the sweeter for it. 

And just like on his very first day in Beacon Hills, Stiles gets lost in the woods again. This time though he knows he’s not alone.

Turns out he doesn’t hate Beacon Hills and its inhabitants after all.

In fact, he has found plenty to love here.

**Author's Note:**

> I'd love to hear what you thought, so please leave a comment below or come talk to me on [tumblr](https://thedaughterofkings.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
